


Madame Devine Takes the Stage

by mintboy (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Drag Queens, Homophobic Language, Humanstuck, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Romance, Speakeasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 14:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16199684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/mintboy
Summary: It's 1928, and Karkat is the fastest bartender at The Law Room, a speakeasy under the guise of a nightclub. His steady, average life is suddenly sent into a whirlwind when a movie star he rescues from fans decides to invite him out for a night on the town - in a scene he's never really experienced before.Slang glossary is in the end notes.





	Madame Devine Takes the Stage

Anyone in New York could tell you that Midnight was the place to be once the sun fell – but not because it was a club; there were plenty of nightclubs in the city, and many that were certainly more upscale than Midnight. It was because Midnight went by another name, one whispered after a glance to each side: The Law Room. Unlike Midnight, The Law Room wasn’t just a nightclub, it was a juice joint, and probably one of the best for miles.

Karkat would know; he worked there. He tended the bar for Slick, the guy who owned the place. He was about eighty percent sure that Slick was in some kind of gang – but it didn’t really matter. Gangs owned most speakeasies, and it wasn’t really anything for him to worry about. He was just a bartender … one of the best, actually. Not that he would brag.

He was quick – and that’s what counted at a juice joint. Slick had a deal with the bulls; if they were raiding, they’d let him know in advance, and he and Karkat would turn the place back into Midnight in minutes. That way, The Law Room never shut down; and that’s what separated it from other speakeasies. It was a staple in the city, and sometimes people would show up just to watch for celebrities and hound them while they drank or smoked.

Speaking of celebrities, Karkat was fairly sure there was one in the club. It was crowded and a little hard to tell people apart with all the smoke in the room, but he had a bit of an interest in movies. And, by a bit, he meant a deep interest. He went just about once a week to the theatre, and had seen most of the movies out at the moment at least three or four times.

The man sitting at the bar in front of him was tight, that was clear, and Karkat was nearly positive it was Dave Strider – who had just gotten _big._ Like, huge. He was the talk of the scene because he was a bit of an enigma. No one really knew much about him, which wasn’t uncommon of movie stars, but there was just something about him that pissed Karkat off. He had a sort of different style of acting, somewhat less extravagant than everyone else, and he always seemed to play a charming and mysterious man. It was just bad, and it ruined the films in Karkat’s opinion.  

Karkat looked up from the glass he was cleaning to see the man taking a long drag from his cigarette. A young woman walked over to him excitedly, her skirt twirling as she tapped him on the shoulder.

“… Are you Dave Strider?” she asked, and almost immediately the attention in the room shifted over. The man appeared visibly uncomfortable, and Karkat had a feeling he had guessed right.

“Hot dog, is that him? I think it is!” someone hollered, and people started to crowd Dave, tapping his shoulder and back and waving their drinks and cigarettes at him. Dave moved a hand up to his face, extinguishing his cigarette in an ashtray and trying to stand. He could hardly move, though – the bar was packed, and he was crowded right up against it.

It wasn’t really his job to do anything, but Karkat had felt something pull in his chest, and before he even realized it, he was calling Slick to take over the bar – offering free drinks to the first ten people to do something or other to distract the crowd – and pulling Dave out of the speakeasy from the back.

Once they were out in an alley, Dave lit another cigarette, running his other hand through his messy hair. He met eyes with Karkat, who was just realizing his eyes were a deep reddish color. He really was tight.

“… Thank you,” Dave said, finally, pulling at his collar, “I thought I wouldn’t get any bushwa tonight, but I guess I’m a sap.”

Karkat nodded, “no problem, are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, everything’s jake,” was the fast reply, and Dave shot him a smile. His eyes lingered. Karkat shifted.

“… I should go back inside,” he muttered, starting to turn.

“Hey, wait,” Dave reached out an arm, “would you … want to do something later? Once you’ve blown for the day.”

“With you?” Karkat scoffed, “I’m a bartender. All I did for you was show you out. You make heavy sugar, don’t you? Take out one of the girls in your films.”

There was a pause, and Karkat could almost hear the cogs in Dave’s head turning. Why was he even still standing here? He had told himself he hated Dave’s acting _and_ his movies. He felt himself frowning, and Dave’s face seemed to fall a little bit. His emotions were pretty clear when Karkat met his eyes. He had an absent thought that maybe Dave’s mysterious acting would translate more to reality if he could cover them with something.

“I just think you’re swanky,” Dave reasoned, “tight, too. Give me a chance? It’ll be jake, promise. Payback, for saving me in there.”

The fact that Dave called Karkat tight was something that slipped past him at that moment, but something that he realized later made a lot of sense. He thought at this time that maybe Dave didn’t have many friends, because he was famous. Or, maybe, he was fed up with other famous people. Karkat wasn’t really sure, but he guessed it would be a pretty swell story to tell later; that he was with Dave Strider for a night, whether or not he had decided he hated the guy.

 “… Fine,” he agreed, “I blow the club in an hour. I’ll meet you here, and we can ankle.”

Dave grinned, giving Karkat a little salute before walking down the alley and disappearing on the street.

_Rhatz._ Karkat sighed and wandered back into the bar, not exactly too keen on dealing with the aftermath of leaving Slick with the entire crowd of patrons. If there had been a raid while he was gone, The Law Room would’ve been thoroughly screwed. It hadn’t been, though, and soon things were relatively back to normal. Karkat would say relatively only because he now had plans with _Dave Strider_ after his shift, who was an actual movie star – even if his movies were bad, Karkat was suddenly feeling a little star-struck. He’d met someone who he’d actually seen on the screen in a theatre, which was a little wild. Even if he hated him. Which he did, for the record.

The hour felt like ages at first, but once he got in the groove, Karkat didn’t even notice it had come and gone. Slick tapped him on the shoulder, ordering him out. Karkat used to stay until close most days, but Slick had just hired a new bartender, and she was apparently rivaling Karkat in speed. A charming jane, too, which bore well with the patrons of the speakeasy. Though Karkat was fast, he’d been told more than once that he wasn’t the type the patrons would spill their life story to.

Karkat stepped outside. It was dark, and kind of cold. He rubbed his arms, pulling down the sleeves to his button-up.

“Hey,” said a voice, and Karkat just about jumped out of his own clothes.

“… Dave,” Karkat said, clarifying for himself. Dave raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, old boy,” he replied, laughing, “have the heebie-jeebies, huh?”

“That wasn’t even a good song,” Karkat grumbled.

Dave rolled his eyes. There was hope in them.

“So, I was thinking we could go to a ball. What do you think?”

There was a pause.

“… You want to take me to a fag ball?”

“Yeah! What, are you getting in a lather over it? They’re hip to the jive, I promise. Even writers go to them, you know. They’re real professional, and all that. It’s a competition, you know. For best drag,” Dave explained, “all the big names are going to be at this one. You should come.”

Karkat hadn’t ever thought much about fag balls, or queers in general. He had sort of spent his life coasting through his own romances. He’d had a couple of girlfriends, here and there, but none of them really meant much, and they fell out of his life noiselessly, mostly because he didn’t seem to have time for them. It wasn’t really much fun to try and upkeep a relationship with them. And, perhaps, he’d considered that he could be … a fag. But he wasn’t sure. The queer scene was something unknown, a faraway culture, and he was comfortable with his life revolving around The Law Room.

“Why are you inviting me?” Karkat blurted, suddenly, “if all the big names are going to be there, why pick me? We just met. I’m a nobody. I just pulled you out of a bar.”

Dave blinked.

“… I …” Dave rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, taking a nervous huff of his cigarette, “it’s just, everyone brings someone. And yeah, I could bring one of these girls I’ve met once or twice in the films, but it just doesn’t mean anything. I know we just met, and all that, but you … you didn’t even hesitate. You saw I was struggling in there, and you just pulled me out. No one respects that. Ever. People just crowd you, and talk and talk and talk, and sometimes I want a break, and you did that, and basically I just thought that maybe you understand me or something, and that if we got closer you and I could –”

“Okay, okay,” Karkat raised his hands, “I get it.”

“So …” Dave murmured, “do you want to join me?”

“I don’t think I really look the part,” looking down at himself, Karkat tugged on his shirt, scowling. It was wrinkled and untucked from his pants.

“Oh, come on, we’ll just throw a tie on you and tuck that shirt in and you’ll be a real Joe Brooks.”

Dave reached down into the inside pocked of his coat, pulling out an extra tie. He reached forward, tucking in Karkat’s shirt and pulling it into its proper place. He slipped the tie onto him, pulling it tight. Karkat felt his face heating up, but swallowed down the feeling, grabbing the tie out of Dave’s hands and finishing it himself.

“There we go,” Dave smiled, “looking good.”

The walk to the fag ball was slow. Dave asked Karkat a lot of questions – about the speakeasy, about his family, about the stuff he liked. Karkat found that Dave was much more talkative about everything that wasn’t movie-centric. The questions Karkat asked about movies were sort of brushed under the rug and answered quickly, but once the conversation turned to the things Dave collected in his room, or the photos he took with his personal camera, he was happily chatting away. It was charming.

When they got to the ball, Karkat felt like he was entering a whole new world.

The ballroom was huge, and the ceilings felt miles high. There was gold everywhere – on chandeliers, lining the walls – and most of the seats were full. The floors were an elegant tile, and his shoes clicked with every step. He definitely recognized quite a few of the people there; there were movie stars, writers, socialites. Some people he had even seen at The Law Room.

Dave threw his coat over a chair, stretching, and then offered the seat beside him to Karkat.

“Stay there, alright? I’ll be back,” Dave grinned, and shot off into the crowd before Karkat could reply. With a sigh, Karkat sunk back into his chair. It was comfortable, but he felt out of place. The people who weren’t intrigued socialites, celebrities or reporters were clearly other queers, and he just didn’t seem to fit anywhere.

Someone stepped out into the center of the floor, announcing the start of the show. Karkat glanced around, looking for Dave, but saw him nowhere. He wouldn’t lie; he was a bit stressed. He was alone, now – in a place he knew nothing about.

He didn’t really pay much attention at first, eyes darting around the room to try and spot where Dave had run off to, but slowly became a little more invested as the show got more intense. The category was “Butch Beauty”, and the butch queens would emerge from the curtains, coming out into the center of the room. They showed off their outfits, blew kisses, danced.

Then, Karkat was almost sure he’d suddenly become ill, because he was about a hundred percent positive that Madame Devine, the queen that just stepped out from behind the curtain, was Dave Strider.

Sure enough, she made a beeline for Karkat, her beaded dress falling down her thin figure like a wave breaking. Her hair was pulled down around his cheeks in curls, and her face was done up as well. Dave looked, well, like a jane. Like a flapper – save for the fact her flat chest poked out from behind the thin dress, nipples clearly visible as the straps extended down underneath them. She put her foot on the chair Dave’s jacket was hanging off of, her fishnets stretching across her bare legs. She winked at Karkat, and he felt something flutter in his chest, burning down into his stomach and up into his head.

And just like that, she strut away, showing off to a couple more patrons and milking their cheers, before walking back behind the curtain.

Karkat had to grip the arms of his chair. He wasn’t sure how to feel. For one, Dave was clearly a queer, which was something. But … Karkat wasn’t exactly thinking that he was entirely straight, himself. After all, his head was spinning and it was because Dave, another guy – even if he had been dressed as a skirt – had danced in front of him.

The show went on, and Dave appeared a couple more times. Karkat found himself cheering on Madame Devine, even if he still felt awkward.

When the show eventually ended, people slowly began to leave, wandering out. The crowd got thinner and thinner, but Karkat stayed in his seat, waiting for Dave to emerge. Eventually, he decided to try and find him. He didn’t have much else to do … and there was a definitely a conversation that had to happen between the two of them.

He wandered into what he assumed was the dressing room. It was empty except for one occupied mirror, which Dave was sitting in front of, scribbling on a piece of paper. He was in his underwear, and his hair was mussed, but when he turned to see Karkat standing hesitantly in the doorway, it was clear his makeup was still on. He grinned, moving onto his feet and taking a few steps forward.

“Hey,” he said, tilting his head, “did you like the show?”

Karkat suddenly felt like his throat was made of cotton. He nodded.

Dave wandered closer.

“… Do you,” he muttered, “like Madame Devine?”

Karkat swallowed. His head was spinning.

“… Yeah,” he answered, reaching up and placing a hand on Dave’s bare chest. It was cold. “I … I think I like Dave Strider, too.”

Dave laughed, but it was breathy. He leaned down, putting a hand on Karkat’s chin.

“Can I?” he whispered.

Karkat nodded.

Dave pulled him in for a kiss. It tasted like lipstick and cigarettes and _Dave_. It was lovely. They eventually broke for air, but Karkat almost immediately pulled him back in, threading a hand through Dave’s hair. His other hand slithered around his waist. It wasn’t long before the two had settled on one of the dressing room chairs, Dave on his lap, chest to chest as they made out for what both felt like forever and not long enough.

They broke for air again, and Karkat laughed, breathless.

“What?” Dave asked, tugging absentmindedly on Karkat’s tie.

“I just never thought I’d find myself at a fag ball, petting a drag queen.”

Dave rolled his eyes. His makeup was thoroughly smudged.

“… Does that mean you want to stop?” he asked. His voice was laced with slight concern, but he was smirking under his ruined lipstick.

“God no,” Karkat replied in an instant, dragging Dave back in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> **Cultural Notes:**
> 
>  
> 
> On LGBT+ Slurs - in the 1920's, the word "gay" was not in use yet, other than to describe someone being "happy". The LBGT+ community was referred to largely by the public as slurs such as "fags" and "queers". Though now recognized as inappropriate (and the latter reclaimed), they were commonplace at the time, which is why they are used in casual dialogue in this fanfiction. In order to properly execute the characters delving into queer culture (and one for the first time) in 1929, I decided to use the terms in order to keep the fanfiction's cultural flow.
> 
> On Silent Films - Karkat dislikes Dave's acting style because films were silent in the 1920's, so it would be frowned upon for an actor to not be overly-expressive and extravagant. 
> 
> On Sunglasses - Dave is not wearing shades because they were not invented until the early 1930's, and certainly not mainstream until far after that. 
> 
>  
> 
> **Slang Glossary: 1920's (In order by first use of word)**
> 
>  
> 
> Juice Joint - another word for a speakeasy; a place where illegal alcohol could be purchased.  
> Bulls - the police (or any form of law enforcement).  
> Tight - attractive, good looking.  
> Hot Dog - exclamation, like "oh my god!"  
> Bushwa - bullshit.  
> Sap - idiot, fool.  
> Jake - great.  
> Blow - to leave somewhere.  
> Heavy Sugar - a lot of money.  
> Swanky - cool.  
> Ankle - to walk, to go somewhere.  
> Rhatz - exclamation, like "damn it".  
> Jane - a woman.  
> Old Boy - form of address for men.  
> Heebie-Jeebies - the shakes; to be startled - popularized by a hit song.  
> Fag Ball / Drag Ball - a drag contest.  
> To Get in a Lather - to get angry or upset.  
> Hip to the Jive - cool, trendy.  
> Joe Brooks - someone who looks the part; well dressed.  
> Skirt - a woman.  
> Petting - to make out.


End file.
